


Untouchable

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Diary Tom Riddle - Freeform, M/M, Rating and warning may change, Slash, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psychopaths were born, genetically predisposed to a low or nonexistent amount of empathy. Example: Tom Riddle. Sociopaths were created, circumstances wearing away at morality until little was left of it. Example: Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unwanted Boy

Oh, how she hated the boy. He was practically the human embodiment of everything that her 'perfect' sister and her 'perfect' world represented. He had Lily's beautiful green eyes, James Potter's messy black hair, a blanket with moving embroidery, and a parchment letter from Albus Dumbledore. He was her sister's beauty, Potter's irritating everything that Vernon didn't have, magic, and the man who denied her her own sister. Considering that, her reaction to his unwanted presence on the doorstep was natural. 

"VERNON! Oh, God..."

Her wonderful, ordinary husband came barreling out the door, meaty fists raised to protect his wife from the late-morning monsters that assailed her. His face twisted in confusion, not seeing any axe murderers haunting Privet Drive.

"Petunia? What's wrong, pumpkin? I was with Dudley, fine boy, very fine indeed, what happened...? Oh."

His eyes had passed over the small baby with the lightning scar, clutching a curiously thick letter. Face slowly purpling, he turned to his quivering wife.

"Dear... This, this... is Harry. My sister's boy... She died - she and Potter - they, the freaks, left us him, left him to us... Oh, read the letter, will you?"  
"They died? Potter? That no-good basta- Damn it all! We have to keep the boy? He, we, I am not accepting this - Does that blanket have a _moving pattern _?!"__

__Vernon bent down and snatched the letter. Piggy eyes narrowed and his firehead furrowed._ _

__"...Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore? What abnormal name is that? And _blood wards _? This is ridiculous, and we are not keeping this - freak because his parents blew up. Dudley will not be denied our full attention."___ _

____His wife, whose eyes were quite red, sniffed. "Of course, Vernon, darling. Our Dudders - he won't have to deal with a freak. My baby boy won't have to endure this! Dear, should I - Should we phone the orphanage? St. Mary's?"_ _ _ _

____"Well, an orphange would be the proper place for him, but not St. Mary's. It's altogether too close for comfort, to here, and our son shouldn't have to fraternize with him in primary. Check the address book, who can phone one further away - London, probably - and drop him off."_ _ _ _

____"You know best, dear. Those awful hooligans from Mary's shouldn't even be allowed with decent folk, never mind this boy! He'd bully my poor Diddykins, he's so sensitive... Let's bring the boy inside before we drop him off, or the neighbors will notice."_ _ _ _

____"Of course. Lucky today's Saturday, or I'd have to waste work over him... Let's get the phone book."_ _ _ _

____He strode in, leaving Petunia to gingerly pick up the boy (eying the small golden balls zooming around on the blanker with distaste) and follow her spouse._ _ _ _

____OoOoO_ _ _ _

____"Petunia, there's an orphanage in London - Woole's, it seems like it'd take him in..."_ _ _ _

____"Hmm... It's acceptable. Far away, that's a good thing, he'd go to the schools in the area there."_ _ _ _

____"Perfect, then. Let's get the boy and go tomorrow - and for goodness' sake bleach that damned blanket before we go. We can't have the matron see that abnormality."_ _ _ _

____But for all Petunia's frenzied scrubbing and soaking, the pattern wouldn't come out. She cut it into pieces, too small to see more than occasional flashes of gold on the red scraps, and attempted to burn it. That didn't work well either, so she flushed the slightly charred pieces down the toilet. She replaced it with a threadbare blanket that was once green. The letter was more easily disposed of._ _ _ _

____The baby that watched the proceedings appraisingly started to cry when the letter went up in flames, yellowed parchment turning into fine, delicate ash._ _ _ _

____OoOoO_ _ _ _

____An old woman, 74 years old, surveyed her dominion with beady eyes. The children of Woole's orphanage were no trouble to her - why, she, Matron Cole, had been there for over 50 years! Her rather vulture-like demeanor was excellent at ensuring the children didn't misbehave. And she was still as sharp and stern as she always had been, of course, that helped. She could handle any trouble child or rebellious maverick, any type of child at all - except for maybe another Tom Riddle._ _ _ _

____Tom Riddle was still alive inside her memories, the boy just a little to sharp, too intelligent, to calculating. Cold eyes, shifting from bright to dark, an icy silver colour. Gone now, of course, gone now for years, but didn't nightmares linger just as long as dreams?_ _ _ _

____But these thoughts were too dark for the day. Most dreams faded to nothingness before the sun rose. It was morning, Laura Forbes and Cecil Stanley needed their bottles, Ingrid Dermont needed a new jacket, and Tom Riddle was but a memory._ _ _ _

____Anyways, it wasn't like anybody was going to send in a child soon._ _ _ _

____OoOoO_ _ _ _

____The building was rather foreboding, grey and grim, four stories tall, with a rather outdated, boxy design and few smudged windows. A wrought-iron gate, emblazoned with 'Woole's Orphanage,' was the only way to enter the fenced-in building lot. The grass was thin and dry, vastly different from the verdant lawns of Privet Drive. It gave the impression of clinical poverty, not exacty dirty, but perhaps with broken appliances and hand-me-down possessions._ _ _ _

____The two Dursley adults entered the gate, clutching several envelopes and papers apiece. One Harry James Potter lay in the reluctant arms of his aunt. After much debate, they had decided to officially send him to the orphanage instead of leaving him at the door. Petunia had insisted on going during the time when the matrons took the children to church, unwilling to deal with too many curious pryers._ _ _ _

____Indeed, when they entered, there was only one person nodding to herself behind a dingy desk in the front 'office.' The teen blinked mascara-thick lashes when she notice them, and sat up lazily._ _ _ _

____"Dropping off that kid, yeah? Papers?" she drawled, nodding at their hands._ _ _ _

____"Yes. My wife and I have come to give to our - er, nephew. We have papers. May we speak with a matron? Someone with more - authority?" Vernon unconsciously sneered at her piercings - on her ears, eyebrows, and lip._ _ _ _

____"Don't fret, people... Jeez! Just a mo', don't get your knickers in a twist... No need to be rude 'bout it, man. YO, MRS. COLE!"_ _ _ _

____A rather weak "Is there anything?" came from further inside the building. Shuffling steps, accomphanied by the thumps of a cane, drew closer, the Dursleys unconsciously inching closer to one another. A door, with painted with a chipped blue, opened on rusty hinges. Silence pervaded, unbroken except for the a slow creak and the rhythmic thumps the cane made on hard linoleum._ _ _ _

____An old woman, eyes surprisingly sharp, blinked rapidly at the Dursleys. She shut the door behind her with a click. She swallowed, frail neck bobbing as her eyes flicked from the Dursleys to the infant held in Petunia's arms._ _ _ _

____"Ah... I apologize, Mrs., Mr... It's uncommon that we have - er, custody - of a child trusted to us, unless, of course, are you looking -"_ _ _ _

____"No, we're most definitely not adopting, er, Madam." Here, Vernon glared at the babbling crone. "My wife and I are looking to - ah - drop this... _Dear child _... off at this... marvellous orphanage." Petunia weakly pat the baby on his head, before discreetly wiping her palms on the baby blanket.___ _ _ _

______Matron Cole swallowed again. She cleared her thorat, and continued in a marginally stronger voice. "Of course. Do you have his birth certificate? We require several different documents..."_ _ _ _ _ _

______OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _

______Those eyes! This was another Tom Riddle, sure as the sky was blue. And after her thoughts about Riddle... Providence, God, whatever was out there, had surely heard her! What had she done? Her fault, her fault, all her fault... Amy Bishop, Dennis Benson, William Stubbs, those poor mad children were laughing at her!_ _ _ _ _ _

______Nothing, nothing, she had done nothing! But it wasn't her fault, wasn't... Was it? The child had the same... aura, the same air of something different. No, no. It was the boy's fault. His fault for coming. She knew it, he would be the same freak that Riddle had been, the same monster. His ex-guardians hadn't wanted him - clearly, there was something wrong with him! Something in those green, pale eyes, something eerie, something haunting..._ _ _ _ _ _

_______Demon child. Abnormality. _Hadn't she suffered enough? She led a good life, helped infinite children, lived with integrity...__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Notmyfaultnotmyfaultnotmyfault... ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________All him! Those eyes! Unnatural, unnatural intelligence! Following her everywhere with a condemning gaze, a terrifying infant with a bloodred scar. _She had done nothing! _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________For the first time in over 20 years, she knelt to a musty cupboard - forbidden for all the children - and pulled out a bottle of dark red wine._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She struggled feebly with the cork, before giving up and smashing the bottle violently over her tiny desk. Crystalline shards exploded all over her study, and crimson liquid - was that wine or her blood? - seeped through the papers that had been on her desk. The documents at the top, which happened to be the boy's legal papers, were almost completely soaked through. Deep red also seeped into her clothes, and she laughed hysterically - Oh, she remembered this! Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle had done this! She remembered distinctly! A stick, pale and slim... _She had done nothing, she was nothing, she had nothing... _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Distantly, she noted that panicked footsteps were speeding towards her office._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Matron Cole slid her delicate, almost translucent, fingers over her former desk, now a mess of glass slivers, splinters, and soggy, torn paper, gathering the precious liquid into a small puddle before sucking her fingers. Delighted at the bittersweet, strangely coppery taste, she licked at the pooling wine, lapping like a dog._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________"Harry James Potter..." _she whispered, eyes alight with a mad, fearful fervor.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Her mind, already unsteady from the last farewell of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, had been thrown into complete disarray by the arrival on a new, albeit infant, incarnation of him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The sight that greeted the terrified teenage employee who had rushed to the office was not unlike a scene from a horror movie._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"What do you mean he gone?!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily, world-weary blue eyes regarding his frenzied companion. Professor McGonagall being who she was, he had known she would panic._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Minerva..." he started, before interrupted by the furious yells of his transfiguration teacher and fellow Order member. "Don't you 'Minerva' me, you - you manipulating fool! We cannot have simply _lost _James and Lily's son! The Boy-Who-Lived, Albus! Our saviour!"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Albus leaned forward seriously, looking his friend straight in the eye and disregarding her vague wand gestures. " _Minerva. _We have not lost him. We know where Harry is. He may not be at the safety of his aunt's-"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________" _Safety, _by Godric's sword. May I remind you that this aunt abandoned the boy in _You-Know-Who's _old orphanage?"_____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"Say the name, Minerva. His name is Voldemort. The house may not have been the best place -"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________" _Petunia Evans was a miserable, nasty little xenophobic little harlot. _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"- but he is not there anymore. My friend, please believe me when I say we cannot do anything about this. Lady Luck was not on our side today... Have you heard of the Blood's Name ritual?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Minerva blinked, thrown by the sudden topic change. "No... I can't say I have... but - well, it rings a bell."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Albus seemed to expect this, eyes clouding and nodding gravely before speaking. "It's a Dark blood magic ritual that magically alters the guardian of a child, seven years or younger, to an adult seventeen or older, regardless of whether the adult is a muggle or wizard. The child will not actually change - but in blood tests, in paternity spells, the name listed as guardian will be the name of the person who had performed the ritual. It will not change until the guardian is dead."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Minerva's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Merlin... Albus, did somebody... Perform the ritual... on Harry? This..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Blood's Name requires the names of the child's parents, written willingly and by their own hand, and blood from the new guardian to be spilled on the two names. Intense emotion - Love, hate, jealousy - must be felt by the guardian towards the child. And the name of the child, the full name, must be spoken after consuming the blood that had been saturated witn the parents' names and magic." The Headmaster looked resigned, certain of what he was saying, relucantantly confident of the words he was speaking._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Oh, Albus, is Harry dead? Tell me he's not dead. The Boy-Who-Lived cannot be dead. Who performed the... Blood's Name ritual on him?" Albus would not have hidden it if a Death Eater had become Harry's guardian... Right?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"It wasn't a dark wizard," he stated carefully, "But... It was the orphanage matron. I belive Miss Mathilda Cole, a muggle, inadvertently performed the ritual on Harry when his relatives dropped him off. This," he said, producing a muggle picture from his sleeve, "was taken of her the night Harry was accepted at the orphanage."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________She took the photo gingerly, casting spectacled eyes over the image. It was horrific to behold, an black-and-white image of a wispy old woman sprawled over a mess of glass shards and mushy shreds of paper. Blood was everywhere, reproduced in stark black ink, coating the table, soaked in the woman's clothes, and oozing out of an infinite amount of tiny cuts on what was visible of the woman's paper-thin skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Sweet heavens... An accident? That's horrible! An innocent, a muggle, dying, from an unintentional magic? Still... Harry shouldn't be at an orphanage. The woman's passed away, so he should be relocated -"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Minerva," said Albus gently, "Matron Cole is still alive. She's still Harry's guardian, and I'm afraid we cannot murder an innocent woman, even for the life of an innocent boy. He must stay with her, for better or for worse."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Still alive? That's too much blood, too much damage, for a woman that age to simply survive!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Muggle technology truly is something, is it not? But Harry won't be in danger for long. Mathilda Cole, no matter how obstinate, is a muggle, and a sad fact of life is that muggles do not live very long. She will pass away, naturally, and the killing of an innocent can be avoided. But before she does, Harry will have to live in Lord Voldemort's old orphanage."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"It's unavoidable? I personally have nothing against muggles, you know that, Albus... But You-Know - Voldemort - could not have become who he was with a pleasant childhood. Surely a memory charm, a compulsion, you could move Cole to a safer place? Harry would go with her, and he wouldn't have a life in an orphanage."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"I'm afraid not, Minerva. Humans being the delightfully social creatures that they are, the news would already have spread across London. A mutilated old woman, the poor matron of an orphanage, would pique curiousity. A memory charm cast upon every muggle in the area would be unreasonably labourous. It would leave the Obliviators, many though there are, weak, and take over a month. No amount of organization could accomplish such a feat."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________"Fine... But I don't like it, Albus, I don't like it one whit. Can't we do something to improve his conditions? You've shown me a memory of that place, and it's about the bleakest thing I've ever seen."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Albus' eyes twinkled at her for the first time since he called her in. "Of course we can, my dear. Some _very _generous donations could be acquired easily."___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Minerva smiled, a genuine smile, before sobering quickly at the thought of the media maelstrom that would occur when Harry Potter's location was declared confidential. Nodding to the headmaster, she turned away from him towards the exit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________She hesitated. "Headmaster?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Mm? Yes?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Thank you, Albus. I mean, for telling me this information. I understand it was not nessessary to hear, but... My sincerest thanks."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Of course I told you, Minerva, what are friends for, if not for telling secrets?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________BOY-WHO-LIVED SENT TO SECRET LOCATION!_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Rita Skeeter, special correspondent to the Daily Prophet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Now, we all know the famous story of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, son of James and Lily Potter. The legend has been told many times - A fortnight ago, the terrifying Dark Lord You-Know-Who broke into the Potter home to murder the family, well-known Light supporters._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________But that isn't quite the surprising part - the brutal, horrific massacres that You-Know-Who perpetuated were infamous, but Harry, an infant of only 1 year, survived the attempted murder. The killing curse that was cast at him did nothing, leaving only a small scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. Harry Potter is now the only known survivor of the darkly powerful killing curse._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________When young Harry was recued from the wreckage of his home, we were informed that he was sent to live at his relatives' house, a hidden, secret place - The close relationship between the Potters and their in-laws was beautiful and rare. But now, new information has come to light - The Boy-Who-Live is being relocated to an even more confidential place. There were no reasons given for the move, but this reporter believes that it's to protect Harry Potter from the Death Eaters, the terroroists who followed You-Know-Who._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________No matter how isolated Harry may be in his safe house, I think we'll agree that the Boy-Who-Lived deserves the security it brings. But that certainly doesn't mean I won't meet him if given the chance!_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________-Rita Skeeter_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Mathilda Cole, upon her discovery, was immediately rushed to St. Mabel's hospital. She had small cuts, all bleeding an abnormally large amount, covering her hands, arms, face, and neck. No major arteries were severed, but she did require a blood transfusion. It was ruled that her condition was self-inflicted, but she was heard repeating the name 'Tom Riddle.' There were no living persons found with the name._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________It was also noted that 'Harry Potter' was mumbled, too, but in her feverish state it was disregarded as delirious babbling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________After treatment, she was sent back to her residency, an orphanage with a small flat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Amanda nervously combed through the dyed black hair with trembling fingers. Yeah, sure, blood was cool and all - _goth _\- but that... that horror scene? Eurgh. She wanted to puke. Wasn't that just a tad too much blood for such tiny cuts? But that was ages ago, and three days should've been enough to stop freaking out over something.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Miss Lane!" a sharp voice called. She jumped, hurriedly picking up her pen and holding it above the paperwork for the new kid - Harry, was it? - that she was supposed to be working on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Matron Cole stepped in, bandages around portions of her face, neck, and arms. Beady brown eyes glared balefully at Yasmin. Was she always this strict? The matron had always been kind to her, kind to the orphans, so why did she suddenly seem so... Scary? It must've been the scars. The small but vivid marks peppering an otherwise unremarkable visage added an unavoidable air of threat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Mrs. Cole? What's up?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Her face twisted for a moment in an odd sort of grimace-sneer, before settling into impassive ambivalence. What...? Mrs. Cole was a sweet woman, but this scarred crone looked anything but._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"I was told that Harry Potter's papers were destroyed in my... _accident, _" she said, with a disgusted glare at the papers that Amanda was working on. "I was the only person who had seen them, so I was instructed to refill the papers to the best of my ability."___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________"Y-yeah, of course, er -" she scrabbled with the papers on the desk, gathering the replacement certificates for the new boy and handing them to the matron. Mrs. Cole held them as if they were lethal snakes, two fingers extended in a hold that would've looked ridiculous if her focused glare wasn't so contemptuous._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________"So, um, you'll have to just fill 'em in, huh?" Amanda asked when the silence stretched just a bit too long._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________"Yes. It's such a shame, though, but I don't _quite _remember all of the information..." Mrs. Cole suddenly smiled. Amanda supressed a shudder.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Err... Yeah, I suppose you'll just have to make stuff up about Harry's parents..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Such a shame indeed. Thank you, Miss Lane."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Why did she feel like something terrible was going to happen?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Mathilda gripped her pen, resting it heavily on the paper. _Occupation. _What to do, what to do... She recalled that the father - James, was it? - had written _law enforcement _. Bah. How boring. Wouldn't it be so much more interesting if he was in _retail? _? And his mother would have enjoyed being an _escort, _right? And no matter if the boy drew his own conclusions about those dubious vocations._________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________Hmm... Address went from _9 Godric Glade _to _n/a _, and martial status went to _divorced. _No one needed to know about these little alterations, so the name stayed as Harry James Potter. Well-known or not, the name had made the papers after her little _accident. ___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Glee filled her mind as she carefully edited the documents, omitting, adding, and altering facts as she saw fit. She had a pretty good memory, despite her advanced age, and could've correctly filled most of the blank spaces, but this was much more enjoyable. Anybody who birthed this spawn, this reincarnation of Tom Riddle, deserved this slander. They deserved to have their names dragged through the mud, disgustingly successful lives rewritten as tales of failure and abuse. She had worked so hard - taking care of the needy little orphans, slaving away for those ungrateful children, and she lived in a sparse flat next to her workplace, Oh, the joy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Those lazy, despicable parents had probably been rich. Upper-class trash, the type to sneer at her impoverished and offer pitiful, mocking donations. Their son would've been the same type of overeducated popinjays._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________Speaking of education... _Higher Education. _Look at that... both parents, graduated from a ridiculously selective school. Hogwarts, what a ridiculous name for a college. Hadn't Ton Riddle gone off to there? She was doing the boy a favour, really, by filling the blank spaces with _high school dropout. _______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________Oh, when he grew older, wouldn't he so enjoy learning about his esteemed parents?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________The orphans were crowding around the new boy's crib, scowling at the small baby within. It wasn't often that anybody came by to adopt, but when they did, they usually picked the youngest they could find. One an orphan hit age ten, it was unlikely that any potential parent would adopt them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________" _Harry _, was it?" asked Ingrid Dermont.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________"Yep. Mate, we're just bang outta luck. Cil and Laura were bad enough, but now this guy? No chance. At all. Guess we're here to stay." replied Andrew Mill._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________"Shucks, Andy, don't be so sad. At least we'll get to stick together, right? Ain't nothing bad about that," said Trista Jefferson._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________The three seven-year-olds formed a small group, naturally drawn together by their age similarity, and were the most competetive children in the orphanage, willing to do almost anything for a chance of leaving the orphanage. The appearance of even more competition in the way of their adoption was a horrible thing to their as of yet undeveloped minds._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________They all stared pensively down at the sleeping infant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________"Aw, man, Andy, you're right. These babies are gonna ruin us."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________Reynard Poon, an 17-year-old who had apparently been listening in, laughed darkly. "Brats, nobody's gonna want _you, _even without the baby. Too old, not cute enough... Wish they'd just fuck off and get their own kid. Getting your hopes up is pointless."___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________________Ingrid opened her mouth, angry, but Trista slapped a hand over it. "Er... Okay, um, Reynard. We'll just... go now." Trista gave a glare to her friends, grabbed their hands, and raced off with them in tow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________________"Guys! Don't argue with a big kid!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________________"Trista, he was being such a jerk!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________________"He's still big and old and strong! You know he'll just beat you up!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________________________________" _Guys... _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________________________Harry Potter was _not happy. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________Mommy had fallen, green light surrounding her, and Daddy hadn't come to help. Then there was pain in his head, pain as the man in red eyes shot green light at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________It reminded him of Daddy, Daddy who made coloured smoke appear, Daddy who hadn't come to help. Daddy always came to help._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________But Harry hadn't fallen. He felt _painpainpain _as he screamed, but he didn't fall and he wondered if Mommy and Daddy had felt this too. But they had fallen, and he had not, so perhaps they had not felt the crippling, tearing sensation. Maybe he was supposed to fall. Maybe he would have found Mommy and Daddy on the ground with him, and they would smile and pick him up off the ground again.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________But he hadn't fallen, pain had come, and the red-eyed man disappeared. And then came _burningohmerlintheburning _as green light flew _away _from him._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________________________________And sharp, sooty air, bad air, filled his lungs and he clapped because the bad air didn't let him scream. No one had come. No one was left. Alone, with bad air and burning pain and silenced screams._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________________________________And he had fallen asleep, in the deafening, ringing, silence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________________________________Until he woke up, and the loud silence was replaced with loud noise. A red man, red like Mommy's hair and like the other man's eyes, shouted and yelled as if he had been vocalizing the screams that Harry could not voice back in the ringing silence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________________________________Pain - a small pain, a tingle, in comparison to the crippling green light - came as a bony woman pinched his skin with sharp fingertips. Mommy didn't hurt him, even with tingles. But Mommy had fallen, so this bony, pinching, sharp woman would have to replace _red hair green eyes soft hands _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________________Luck! Held by the bony woman and red man, released, and given a cot in a grey, faded room. Gurgling happily, seeing peers in two children his own size. They were both asleep. Boring._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________________And then, as if called by his thoughts, three people - smaller than Mommy, bigger than Harry, came in and spoke. He waved his arms, as he had in the burning house, but they ignored him. Boring. Was there nothing interesting in this grey, dreary place? Harry missed Daddy's gold smoke and Mommy's red hair. No colour. No life, no tingle, like the gold smoke and green light had._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________________Even the green light was better than this ugly flatness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________________Harry realized that the soft feeling of energy that had once surrounded him was gone. A tiny tickle of power ran under his skin, but the peaceful, calming humming of the energy that had always been there was now gone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________________Crying seemed to be one of the best options right now. Sometimes it had made the energy flow out of him, eager to serve, shaking windows and stirring the air. Mommy and Daddy had acted odd when he did that, both proud of him and angry at the broken knickknacks that were a result of his ministrations._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________________________________________________But there was an insistent instinct in the back of his mind, saying _noenergydontusetheenergynow _because somehow, in some way, it would be bad and the grey people wouldn't like the tickle and tingle of the flowing energy. The colour, the vibrance of it, would be somehow shocking and sacreligious to these men and women of monochrome.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________No, he wouldn't share his beautiful energy to these people. They wouldn't understand, would condemn him for it. They didn't deserve its allure and its playfulness and its spark._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________Harry suppressed his tears quickly with small, balled fists._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________How long would he endure this dreary world? One thing after another, green light to bony woman to grey house, and Mommy and Daddy had fallen. The only interesting point, he supposed, has been the red-eyed man. Energy had flared around him, dark and smooth and seductive, and while the green light had made Mommy and Daddy fall, there had also been a rush of power, a crackling like the energy couldn't be confined to a jet of green light._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________Harry wondered if he could make the green light. He wanted the rush and crackle and pretty green shade, flickering and fluttering in the core of it. Maybe even show it to one of the grey people, verdant meeting dull, and prove to them how wonderful the feeling was. Somehow he knew the grey people didn't have the energy, the same way he knew they wouldn't like his power shining out and shaking the dull windows._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________So he laid there, magic pulsing soothingly under his skin, on a small cot with a iron frame, in a dull room in a grey building, hundreds of miles away from his broken home._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________And wizards and witches everywhere were celebrating, cheering for a small boy on a small cot, cheering for a boy they had glorified and made a legend. Glasses raised, speeches made, wine drunk, all for a boy they had hailed as their savior. All for the Boy-Who-Lived, son of James and Lily Potter, conqueror of the Dark Lord Voldemort._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________________________________________________OoOoO_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Evolution

"BOY! What do you think you're doing, lazing around? Can't you do anything useful?"

Harry cringed as Cecil and Laura paled and flinched away. The three had gravitated together, the only 5-year-olds in the orphanage, but it seemed, now, that they were drifting farther and farther apart. The two were simply unwilling to deal with the strange, intense dislike Matron Cole seemed to reserve especially for him.

"Um, Harry, I think we should go -"

"Yeah, Laura and me need to get something -"

Harry grimanced. Yeah. Of course. "Sure," he said, resigned. "See you later?" 

Cecil and Laura practically ran away, casting apprehensive glances towards the advancing figure. He steeled himself and turned to face the formidable woman who had, for as long as he could remember, been a constant source of terror and abuse. 

"Matron, would you... like me to do anything?" he whispered, fearfully eying the heavy mop and full bucket she carried. She hadn't, yet, but there was a real chance of the matron going berserk and smacking him with them. She certainly had no qualms against slapping him, so it was really only a matter of time.

"Yes, of course I want you to do something, nimrod! Useless, lazy, slacking, it's a wonder nobody's just gotten rid of you yet!" Wispy white hair formed a halo around her face and spittle flew from her lips. "Here," she said, thrusting the bucket and mop at him. "Make yourself helpful for once. I expect the entire building clean in two hours."

"What? I can't do that!" it didn't look like he could even hold the mop, let along use it! And two hours certainly wasn't enough time. The maids that were sometimes hired took at least three hours cleaning the floors. It was literally impossible for him to do. Matron Cole sneered.

"Exactly what I'm talking about. No work ethic! Just do it, boy, stop gaping at me. If you don't -" the sneer deepened, "Well, you'll have to do it to find out, wouldn't you?"

Harry tentatively reached for the extended mop and bucket, unwilling to accept the punishment that would - no doubt - come if he refused them again. Thin arms quaked with the effort of holding the bucket, water sloshing out the edges. He set it down quickly, then glanced at the matron.

"Well, get to it!" she snapped.

He scurried off, mop awkwardly held in one hand and the bucket trailing water behind him as he dragged it behind him. How was he going to pull this one off? Harry seriously didn't want to get punished for not doing an impossible task. He simply couldn't... unless...

Harry focused on the energy inside him, the hidden power that tickled at his insides, that he had been able to feel and direct for all his life, as far as he knew. It hummed silently, reassuringly, and seemed eager to serve. There was nobody in the corridor he was in. His breathing sped up, heartbeat rising, as he ever-so-slowly released a trickle of compliant energy from his extended hands. He sensed it wrap carefully around the mop, securing it, and it slowly began to scrub at the floors.

Yes! Harry knew this wasn't exactly normal, moving objects without touching them, making things happen with the force of his will, but somehow his body buzzed with a heady happiness when he allowed his energy - magic - to flow out and interact with the world around it. Doing the magic was a good thing, a nice thing.

He beamed. The rooms might actually get done! Once the linoleum floor was shining, he stuck his head into the next room. It was empty as well. Harry walked in, bucket and mop floating after him, and once more, he used his magic to sweep the room clean. 

He was on his last room - Just about two hours in, actually - when he heard heavy footsteps approaching. Quickly, the mop tipped it self over and the bucket flew into his hands. Harry turned, slowly, as the door opened and a freckled face appeared. Trista, Trista Jefferson. Eleven years old, friendlier than most.

"Trista? Anything going on?"

Trista nodded, hands twisting nervously. "Yeah, definitely. Harry, kid, Mrs. Cole wants to see you, and she's on the warpath. Going on 'bout you, like a deadline or something? She told me to get you. You better go see her before she comes out and whoops your arse."

What...? He frowned. Harry hadn't even done anything! This made no sense.

"Okay... I'll go see her... Thanks, Trista."

He set off to where - from many, horrible, experiences - he knew the matron's room was. He picked up the mop as he passed it and shifted the bucket, which was still supported by his magic. At the angle he held it, nobody else would be able to tell he wasn't actually carrying it.

Harry, upon reaching the forboding metal door, tapped lightly. Soft echoes revertabrated through it.

"Enter! And mind you don't take the mop in, idiot boy, I know you brought it."

Setting the cleaning supplies down sheepishly, he opened the door and stepped in. The desk and floor's colours were faded from vicious scrubbing, and no hint of the blood he knew had been split four years ago remained. 

"I...I'm here, Matron, what do you want?"

She smirked nastily, contorting the scarred skin on her face. "Why, just womdering if you finished with cleaning. I was so afraid you forgot about it. You have finished, have you?"

Harry wasn't sure why she had a strange, eager look in her eyes, but he knew he hated it.

"Of course I have! Can I go now, please? I have-"

"What do you mean you did it? Liar! The rooms are probably filthy - there's no way you could've even held the mop!"

Harry gaped. "Wait, you wanted me to fail? That's - that's horrible! You're a bad person!"

Mrs. Cole stood sharply, lifting her heavy wooden cane as she advanced on him. "Don't speak to me about bad people, Rid - Potter!" she roared.

Harry backed up against the door, fumbling with the doorknob. Mrs. Cole was insane! He burst out just as Mrs. Cole swung the cane at him, missing by centimetres. She continued advancing, eyes filled with hate, lifting the cane again. The cane swung down again when he was about to run, making contact with his shoulder.

CLANG.

Instead of smashing into and bruising his skin, it bounced off, breaking into two halves. Mrs. Cole gaped, disbelieving expression on her face, and froze.

"YOU! What did you do? What was that? That's not natural - GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Harry fled from the hallway, terrified, as the matron screamed obscenities at him.

OoOoO

"Miss Lane?"

The daydreaming caretaker started, surprised, before turning to face her questioner. A small, serious, seven-year-old was gazing up at her desk with solemn eyes. Harry was already recognized for his unusual maturity, smarter and more pessmisstic than his peers. That might have come from Mrs. Cole, though, who had tormented him since he arrived. No child wanted anything to do with him, wary of the matron's disfavour.

"Yeah, Harry? Can I help you today?"

"I was wondering... Could I possibly see a copy of my parent's official documents? I don't know much about them, you see, and I wanted learn more about them." Harry cocked his head, widening green eyes with a hopeful expression. He saw her glance towards a rusted metal file cabinet by her feet. Lane, the fool, unconsciously weakened when taking in his shining green eyes and cherubic smile.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to show them to you yet. Too young." He dropped his eyes, shifting his feet in mock discomfort, and looked at her through his lashes. "I- sorry, Miss Lane, I just wanted to know more." She wavered even more, but didn't crack. Inconvinient. "Ask again when you're older. I am truly sorry," she said earnestly, "But I'd get fired if I showed you."

Useless. He'd have to distract her, draw her away from the office. How best to do that...?

After giving her another series of heartwrenchingly adorable looks, he left the building to seek one of his... friends. Kneeling near the tall grass that surrounded the orphanage lot, he called out softly. § Yarrow?§

A brown, black-dusted snake, rather small, all things considered, slithered out of the grass. §Yess?§ he replied.

Glancing around to ensure nobody else was watching he leaned in and hissed, §I need you to bite sssomebody. Get close to a hatchling, enssure you are visssible, and sstrike. Can you do that for me?§

Yarrow tilted his head, jewel-bright black eyes regarding him curiously. §Ccertainly, Sspeaker, I'll do any tassk from a desscendent of the massster human. May I assk why?§

§I... ahh... require a disstraction, to fetch an item of great importanccce. You are esssential to acquiring it.§

§Of coursse I am, Ssspeaker, I sshall go do thisss tasssk now, if you wissh...§ 

§Yess, pleasse.§

After his affirmative, Yarrow slithered towards the swing sets, where most of the orphans were gathered. He tracked the snake's movements with his eyes, fascinated by the smooth, undulating scales.

After giving it a bit of thought, Harry walked casually towards the building, keeping an eye out for any hostile approachers. He stopped, just as casually, near the wall and leaned against it. Wait for it... wait for it....

"SNAKE! Help! Somebody! Shit, shit, a snake's fucking bitten Darren!"

Ah. Darren Null and his pottymouthed girlfriend, Jessie Sean. Both 15. The distraction would've worker better with a smaller child, but it worked. All the orphans gasped as one, hurrying and forming a crowd around Null. Yarrow was smart; he should've already escaped. All the orphanage staff appeared at the scream, hurrying towards the crowd with harried expressions. Harry caught a glimpse of the matron's sharp features before he slipped into the building and made a beeline to Miss Lane's office, the front desk.

Quickly kneeling at the file cabinet, he opened it and began flicking through names. Larry... Monroe... Null... Aha! Potter! He pulled out the Potter file, gently thumbing at the smooth, thick paper.

Harry drew in a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before flipping the file open. Harry James Potter... Parents: James and Lily Potter. Boring. No, he needed more information than just their names.

Higher Education: High school dropout. For both of them. His grip tightened on the papers. Well, well, well, his parents had both been idiots. Slackers who couldn't even make it through the public education system.

Address: n/a. Homeless, then, bums on the street, like those filthy beggars with their yellow smiles and grimy skin. Disgusting.

Martial Status: Divorced. Whirlwind romance, probably broke up due to destitution and a lack of love. Possible his birth, as well.

Occupation: Escort for Lily, Retail for James. His father was a loser who slaved in some fast food place. His mother was a married hooker.

Harry threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling hard, and letting the stinging pain ground himself. He had known his parents were probably hobos, he had known they were probably broke, so why was he so disappointed?

He replaced the file, fingers lingering on the papers that could have held so much promise, with no sign of his disappointment except the vicious slam that he closed the cabinet with.

Ghosting through the hallways, a slight, dark figure, he slipped into the panicked crowd that still stood around the bitten boy.

"I don't know where it went! I swear, there was a snake!"

"Mr. Null, what did the snake that bit you look like?"

"Yeah! It just, like, hid or something!"

"Oh my God, are you okay? Crap, pleas tell me you're okay! Is he okay?!"

"Sod off, Steely, snakes don't hide!"

A bitter smile graced his features momentarily, a dark light gleaming in his eyes, as he took in the scene. So his parents were useless, scum of the city. Well, then, he'd have to make his own name for himself, be recognized and be known for his own acheivements. And if one small snake bite, caused by one his more esoteric talents, caused this much commotion... Well, how much could the full extent of his magic do?

OoOoO

Harry idly tapped his fingers on the counter of the butcher's shop, waiting impatiently for the order. He often volunteered for menial tasks like this, shopping and picking up certain items, to have an exuse to leave the orphanage. If he left without giving a clear purpose, the screeching harpy known as Mathilda Cole would descend upon him and start screaming about work ethic.

She was the only person now, really, who wasn't wary and nervous around him - several incidents he and his magic had been closely involved with had ensured that the other children knew not to mess with him. Snake bites, questionably caused sprains and breaks, and sudden bouts of severe illnesses were all now associated with him.

Strangely, though, the matron hadn't been affected. His magic, poised to push or pull, snare or release, somehow slid off of her like she didn't exist. Frustrating, especially considering she always had been his worst opposer. 

"Order for Woole, number 19!"

Harry hurried towards the neatly wrapped plastic parcel, flashing his reciept and nodding quickly. The man who had called his order looked a little confused at seeing a lone 9-year-old boy in his shop during the summer break, but made no comment.

After taking the parcel and leaving the small shop, he started squeezing through the multitude of people mobbing the sidewalks to enjoy the rare sunny weather. The orphange was close, too close to waste the time it took to go through the subways or catch one of London's many buses.

The dull similarity of the crowds he pushed through, the same style and color of clothing, was suddenly broken by a man wearing bright purple. Purple everything, really, from his lopsided hat to his odd, rather dresslike coat to his pointed boots. Well, this was odd. After a minute pause, he continued on his way, but he was stopped by an violet-sleeved arm on his hand. Of course the crazy purple man would have to be the one who stopped him. "Hello, hello! Can I speak to you?"

Harry turned his gaze slowly, at the same time deftly maneuvering his body so the hand was displaced and he was standing outside of the flow of the pedestrians' movements.

"Yes? What may I help you with... Sir?" The last word was spoken with a heavy dose of derision, but the nonentity didn't seem to notice it.

"Oh, no need for that, I assure you! Just throught you were familiar..." He leaned in suddenly and peered under Harry's bangs, apparently noticing the strange scar that resided there. The man's eyes bugged and Harry suppressed the urge to slap him.

"Oh, my! What an honour, what an honour indeed! Dedalus Diggle, and ever so pleased to meet you, Harry Potter!" He reached a hand out, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and shaking energetically when Harry accepted it.

"May I ask how you know my -" Harry started, but Diggle interrupted, his face falling comically.

"Oh... Well, I'm not strictly supposed to speak with you, Dumbledore's orders and all, but very pleasant to meet you, Mr. Potter!" he bowed, low, and flounced off, not noticing the puzzled looks he was recieving from the other pedestrians.

What...? Dumbledore? Who was that? Suspicious, very suspicious, and how did he know who Harry was? It had to be the scar. The jagged lightning bolt on his forehead was one of his most distinguishable features, and it was easy to see how it would aid someone in their recognition. But only if there was somebody to be recognized, and he had never met the odd man, Dedalus Diggle, ever before. Unacceptable. Harry needed answers, and he would get them.

Tracking the flash of purple that was Dedalus Diggle wasn't very hard, only a matter of blending in to the crowd. The gapes that followed him were obvious, all wondering why a man would ever wear such a saturated colour. And Diggle was oblivious, not even giving a hint of noticing his silent shadow.

He eventually stopped in a deserted alley, a dead end, cigarette butts and flecks of plastic and paper scattered all over the narrow street. Harry, still following, observed from behind. When he was eight, he had discovered that his magic could make him seem to disappear into thin air. Very useful.

Diggle glanced around nervously, before muttering something that sounded like "Destination... determination... deliberation!" under his breath. He turned and stepped, fabric rippling out as he rotated.

Time seemed to slow.

Diggle's face was filled with focus, twining and stepping out with his right foot.

Harry got a sense that Diggle was going to disappear, somehow, from the alley.

He dropped the meat parcel and sprung towards Diggle, hand outstretched.

His hand closed around Diggle's wide sleeve.

He registered a look of shock before a terrible feeling of being squeezed and compressed filled his body.

Harry was being squashed, pinched, inside a tiny tube.

Harry and Diggle had appeared in a lawn by a small stone cottage.

The feeling stopped.

And then time resumed its normal speed.

"What -" started Diggle.

"What was that? Tell me what it was!" Harry's demand seemed to ring, lingering in the air.

Diggle's eyes glazed and he immediately replied. "Apparation. Traveling through void to shift from one place to another." His eyes cleared. "W-wait... Harry? How'd you do that?"

"Never mind that! Can you do magic?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you -"

"How do you know who I am?!"

Diggle looked slightly apologetic, taking out a slim stick and pointing it at Harry. "I'm sorry, but it would be best if you didn't remember this. Dumbledore would have my head if he knew! Now, hold still, I promise this won't hurt a bit."

Diggle's mouth opened, the stick waved in a strange slashing formation, but Harry was faster. He thrust his hand out quickly at the stick, and his magic smashed into it, making the stick - wand? - jerk, shudder, and somehow seem to lose its light. The other man looked confused, tapping his wand with a strange look on his face.

"Good going, Diggle, real smooth. Hold still for what, precisely?"

"Now, look here, I didn't want you to get hurt -"

Harry snapped his fingers and Diggle fell to the ground. He strode forward, snatching the wand out of the air with lightning-fast reflexes. He knelt next to the wheezing man, twirling the stick that used to be a wand. The dead wood was set gently against Diggle's throat.

"Answers, unless you want your pretty little stick shoved into your throat," he said, "It doesn't work very well, now, does it?"

"Who are you? You aren't Harry Potter! Imposter!" 

"I wouldn't know, I live in a fucking orphanage!"

"An-an orphanage? What?"

Suddenly, the sound of cracking filled the air. Seven men and women in light blue dress-coats similar to Diggle's appeared, all wearing wary expressions on their faces. They took in the strange scene: A young boy holding a stick to the neck of a man wearing an abnormal amount of purple. 

Harry dropped the stick in shock, sitting on his heels and letting his arms hang limp. "There are more of you?!" 

Two of the blue-clad men drew their own wands and cried out their own spells. 

"Incarcerous!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry made to dodge the jets of light, but a thick rope from the first spell caught him around the ankle. The second then froze him, making him feel as if he was walking through rusted joints. 

A woman with heavy jowls and small glasses perched precariously upon her nose said, in a stern voice, "We have recieved information that on 3:49 PM, today, the wand of a Ministry personnel has been broken. Please surrender... your... wand..." She seemed puzzled at what to do, eying the frozen boy with some confusion. He looked to be only eight, maybe nine, and he held a wand that had no power in it. Recognizable as the wand that belonged to Dedalus Diggle.

"Savage, Adora, bind him and release the spell." She ordered, wondering what the protocol was for when a unarmed minor assaulted and broke the wand of a Ministry employee.

"Yes, Madame Bones," they both replied, both conjuring ropes around him, Adora breaking her spell. The boy, now mobile once more, shifted and glared at them all. He looked to be a wizarding child, with the colouring and features of several pureblood lines. The eyes, though, acid green, were unfamiliar.

She decided to improvise. "My name is Amelia Bones, and I am an auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Please state your name."

"What?" he spat. "Don't know my name? That fellow," with a nod towards Diggle, who shrunk back, "Seemed to know it quite well."

Amelia looked towards Dedalus. This boy did, in fact, seem pretty familiar... "Obliviator Diggle, do you recognize him?"

Diggle nodded furiously. "That- that's Harry Potter! He has the scar!"

All the aurors gasped and gaped at the boy, then at Amelia. That was why he had been so familiar! James, he looked like James, there was definitely a resemblance... But not much of one. His face was off, just a little thinner, a little more chiseled, and a whole lot sharper. Her colleagues were all still staring at her. Sometimes she hated being rank Hepta.

"Child, are you indeed Mr. Potter?"

The boy, who had blanked his face of all emotion, nodded wordlessly. His earlier anger and confusion were entirely hidden.

Two of her subordinates, a Tetra and a Dia, began whispering obnoxiously. Their one Mono, Proudfoot, looked about to wet himself.

"Calm yourself," she snapped. Honestly, Monos... "Mr. Potter, can you explain the situation we found you and Mr. Diggle in?"

The boy, Harry Potter, clenched his teeth. "Ah, Madame Bones, was it? I'm pretty sure I can explain if you do first. Can somebody tell me how you all teleported? And please, do make sure you take your time. It's not like I'm surprised or something, oh no, teleportation and magic wands are all perfectly normal." His voice had risen, just a bit, towards the end of his sentence.

Wait... Dumbledore had said that Potter was in a safe location. Being trained, or other such nonsense. But was he lying? This child, obviously the boy-who-lived, didn't seem to know anything about magic. At all. Albus was a fucking bastard. 

"Madame," started Diggle, "Harry told me he lived in an orphanage. I don't think that Albus told him about magic."

"Yes," she said, gazing thoughtfully and a bit distantly at the boy. She pulled herself together, facing Diggle. "You're right. Dumbledore probably wanted to... raise him in a normal environment. The greater good, and all that." 

"So what should we do with him?" asked Humphrey. "If the Headmaster wants Harry to be kept in the dark, I think we should just obliviate him. He always knows best."

"Shut it, Humphrey, we all know you're just an arse-licker who'll cater to your Dumbledore's every whim." said Adora.

"Arlene, don't be rude to Desmond. You're right, though, we should just memory charm him." said Savage.

"Bu-but he's the boy-who-lived! We can't just treat him like that!" spluttered Proudfoot.

"You're such a twit, Tenderfoot, stop toadying to your little heroes!" snapped Adora.

"Arlene! Stop insulting the Mono!" said Amelia.

As the well-trained, elite auror squad descended înto mindless squabbling about the boy-who-lived, Harry was carefully squirming out of the ropes that bound him. He wasn't small, by any means, but malnourishment made itself known in bony wrists and ankles that came in handy when, say, trying to get out of tight bindings.

One hand came free... That would make his other limbs much easier to untangle. Clench, unclench, clench, unclench, until the ropes were loose enough to squeeze out of. Once he finished untying himself, he would hide himself like he had when he was following Diggory and scope out the location. This might be what Harry had been waiting for - a community of people like him, of people with magic. 

When both of his legs were free, he tensed and ran his hands over the ropes. They still covered his front side, the side that his captors saw, but as soon as he stood up they would fall off. Perfect.

Harry pictured himself fading, disappearing, and his magic complied. His hands took on the appearance of the ground they rested on, so taking that as the cue that he was sufficiently faded, he stood slowly. The ropes slipped off of him, landing in a little heap. The seven men and women - aurors - and the idiot Diggle didn't seem to notice anything.

Creeping silently towards the brush surrounding the small clearing he had appeared in, he froze when the babbling suddenly stopped. They had probably noticed his absence. Harry readied himself to run if nessessary.

"He's probably under an accidental Disillusionment! Everybody, cast your strongest Finite! You too, Diggle!" That was Bones. Presumably, Finite was a spell to... undo other spells. Shit, shit, shit. Harry was already taking his first running stride when the spells took action.

"Finite Incantatem!" chorused the crowd of people. Harry sensed his own magic slipping off as he fled the clearing. The aurors had, no doubt, seen him. He was a fast runner, though - thought it would probably be a fruitless endeavor, Harry could probably reach more people before they caught up with him. The small stone cottage was probably a part of some far-flung villiage or hamlet. However, going along the small gravel path, connected to the house, that probably led to the more poplated area of the town would make Harry a clear target. It would be better to go through the woods that the pathway was adjacent to.

"Get into the woods! Potter's at 2 o' clock to me, spread and comb the area! Cast stunners or incapitators if you see him, and make sure he isn't harmed!"

Harry, still sprinting, cursed as he sped through the woods. He had to be careful not to leave an obvious track, but doing so while bowling through dense woods wasn't easy. He heard the panting and heavy footsteps of the aurors, seemingly surrounding him. While he was aware it was probably his panic making the pursuers seem closer, it was still nerve-wracking.

The aurors, not making an effort to be stealthy, were quite easy to locate. It seemed safe enough to veer off in a different direction using only their sound to judge the safety of a pathway.

Hmm... All of them assumed he would stay in the woods, so why not just use that expectation against them? He was panting hard by now, so getting into a safe area immediately would be the best.

Focusing on the smashing leaves and snapping branches, Harry steered in the opposite direction of the sounds. He neared the edge of the forest, running parallel to the pathway to the villiage, and sped up. He burst out, almost slipping from the change in terrain, but kept running. Harry was painfully aware of his own conspicuous form, but hopefully he was fast enough.

"Potter's on the pathway! Exit the forest! Humphrey, Proudfoot, you stay in case he goes back in!"

Bones again. He would've been impressed if he wasn't so irritated. Harry heard them closing in, heavy footsteps pounding on gravel.

"Savage, Adora, Watney, fire!"

He heard mumbled spells and, somehow, sensed three jets of magic zoom toward him. Harry ducked down and rolled, reflecting that he probably looked absolutely ridiculous doing so. It worked, though, and the spells missed him by far.

Maybe it would be better to surprise them? He couldn't get the focus nessessary to hide himself with magic, and they would probably catch him before he reached the villiage, but maybe...

Harry turned on a dime, five aurors thundering past him and Diggle sputtering and gasping behind them. Diggle wasn't a threat, unarmed, but... He jabbed Diggle in the solar plexus and stomped on his feet. Crude, but it would do. The aurors were turning back around, noticing that he had switched directions. 

What to do... He flung his arm out at the closest auror, a lanky woman with strongly muscled calves, and sent his magic out at her. Instead of destroying the wand, this time it zoomed towards him and landed in his outstretched palm. Harry fingered it gently, frowning slightly at the sour buzz it gave off. He had thought he would be able to focus his magic better through a wand, but...

"Surround him! He has Diggle, and Daernys' unarmed!"

Harry flicked the wand at the advancing aurors, but nothing happened save a light wind blasting their robes. The wand, it seemed, refused to be used. Oh, no. This was bad - the wand was his last chance.

He made to run again, but yet another one of those rope-spells caught his ankle. Harry landed hard, clenching his teeth at the pain, judging it to be sprained. He lifted the wand again, not really expecting it to work, but jabbing harshly all the same. Nothing happened. 

"Hah! That's what you get for taking an ash wand, kid! Not so smart now, eh?" cried out the unarmed woman.

He'd be damned if he let this woman belittle him. He may be down, but Harry would have the last laugh. The wand was lifted up, shining with pearly magic, in the sun before it was bashed over his knee. It snapped cleanly in two, a shimmering white strand of hair revealed in the center.

"You-!" 

"Obliviate him, Savage, and Daernys, stop blubbering!"

"Obliviate!" cried a man with a nasty-looking scar around his neck.

A white light slammed into Harry, and a strange, dreamy haze filled his mind. He remained conscious, though, and still glared up at the people surrounding him.

"It didn't work..." he heard a person mumble.

"Watney, Savage, and I fire on three. One... two..."

"Obliviate!"

And Harry was lost to white light and a sense of vagueness, like a forgotten dream.

OoOoO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ookay.. Another one hits the dust?  
> You're probably all super confused at the Mono, Tetra, whatever junk with the aurors, so... I wanted rankings in the Ministry, but didn't want military terms. So I decided to use Latin/Greek numbers - rank 1, Mono, is worst, rank 7, Hepta, is best. All ministry departments have those rankings, and all are divided into squads of 7 with one person of each ranking in each squad. The head of a department had no ranking and is above everybody.  
> Not really essential, but I sorta wanted to flesh out the ranks.  
> I tried to take feedback into consideration, but... Well, at least Harry's older now.   
> I did this amount of time-skips to show Harry's progression in sociopathy, because he was, essentially, canon Harry in the beginning.  
> Sorry for such a huge amount of chapter notes, and any feedback is appreciated!


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